


You Seem Close

by traceylane



Series: Thominewt Vignettes [2]
Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, minho only shows up at the end but they talk about him so, that same au where theyre all dumb teenagers living in the same suburb, theres a bit of pining and dubiously unrequited love on thomas' end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traceylane/pseuds/traceylane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas and Newt take a drive and have a late night conversation about a lot of things, but mostly Minho.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Seem Close

It’s a Friday evening in early September and they’re at the waterfront.

“I’m surprised your mom let you have her car for the night,” Thomas says, lifting his arm up to cover his forehead and crossing an ankle over his knee.

They’re lying side-by-side, looking up at the moon, half full, from the hood of Newt’s mother’s dark blue Camry. The beach is closed for the night, but they can hear the water washing over the sand from their spot in the parking lot.

Newt has his palms flat on the car, and he drums his fingers against the cold metal. “Well,” Newt answers, clearing his throat, “in a sense, I s’pose she did. I mean, why else would she have left the keys in the bowl where anyone in the house could find ‘em if she wasn’t going to let me use the car?”

Thomas props himself up onto his elbows and looks at Newt with a sharp laugh, “What? You took your mom’s car without asking?”

Newt shrugs, “You said you were bored.”

Thomas gives him a long look, somewhere between shocked and impressed, then lies back down, shaking his head. “I feel like Minho’s having a bad influence on you.”

“Not you, though?”

“He has a bad influence on me, too. We’re both cursed with a friend who’s gonna land us in jail.”

They both laugh at that, and then Newt turns onto his stomach and traces a tiny pattern in the spots of dust.

“You brought him up, again,” he murmurs when it’s quiet again.

“Hm?” Thomas says, craning his neck to look up at him. “Brought who up?”

“Minho.”

“...Oh.”

Minho is, unusually, not present. He had a paper due at midnight and as little as he pretended to care, he wasn’t going to let anything compromise his spotless academic record—not even Newt, and especially not Thomas.

Thomas had explained on the drive over, “And he doesn’t like the ocean, anyway.” Newt had assumed there was a story behind that, as there often was with every piece of information about Minho that Thomas had started filing away since they were in elementary school, but this time Thomas hadn’t brought it up on his own, so Newt hadn’t pressed. The Ocean Story, he supposed, was something he would let the two of them have.

“… What about it?” Thomas asks now, turning his gaze back to the sky.

“Nothing,” Newt says, “You just… talk about him a lot.”

It isn’t accusatory. It’s actually sounds  _amused_.

Thomas sits up again and tries to sound casual. “Well—he’s my best friend, I mean—I bring  _you_  up a lot, too, you’re my… my best friend… too…”

He swallows. It’s gotten darker and he can hardly make out the outline of Newt’s long frame lying flat less than a meter away, but Thomas can still see that he’s smiling up at him, a tad drowsy.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

The dimness of the evening is proving itself useful now that Thomas is blushing. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

There’s a long silence after that, but Thomas still feels a little on edge. He can’t put his finger on why—

“…D’you like him?”

—there it is.

His tongue gets tangled in his mouth he tries to deny it so fast, “No! Minho? Jesus, why—why would you even ask that? He’s… he’s an asshole, and I—”

“You just said he was your best friend,” Newt says, laughing lightly.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean he isn’t still a dick,” Thomas says, running his hand through his hair. Usually after saying things like this about Minho—because he did it quite often—he would say something like  _I love him, though,_  but now doesn’t seem like a good time for that.

“If you say so,” Newt says, his calm juxtaposing Thomas’ panic in a way that Newt finds funny and Thomas finds exasperating.

“I don’t! Really, I don’t. I don’t like him, I like—”

Again, Thomas has to stop himself from saying something he really shouldn’t be saying— _You_.

Newt looks over at him. “You like…?”

“—not him. Is what I’m saying.” It isn’t a good save, so he continues with a short, hopefully not to noticeably nervous laugh. “I mean, what is there to like?”

But then Newt doesn’t say anything. Instead he looks away, up so his pupils shine with the tiny glowing reflections of stars.

“I think there’re plenty of things to like,” he answers finally.

And Thomas’ heart starts to sink.  

“What do you mean?” he ventures. He’s a little afraid to know, but Thomas has always been too curious for his own good.

Newt doesn’t look at him. “I mean… I think that you’re lucky to have him, is all. And, I, ah…” He pauses. “I guess I am too.”

Thomas hopes his dismay doesn’t show in the dark. There were obviously a million things that Newt was thinking, and Thomas almost wishes he could reach in and see them for himself, if only he didn’t think—know—that the majority of those things were about Minho.

His throat is dry and his voice comes out weak when he starts to ask, “Newt, do you—”

“We should go home,” Newt says suddenly, sitting up.

Thomas looks at him, a little frustrated, but then Newt yawns and closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s about to pass out where he’s sitting.

So he says, “Okay,” and slides off the car. Newt tosses him the keys and they head off.

The drive home isn’t awkward. It’s long and quiet with just the soft blow of air from outside the car streaming in from the tiny bit of space above the broken driver’s side window.

Thomas feels he should be happy they’re comfortable with this kind of silence, but he wants Newt to talk. To him.

But then he can hear Newt’s soft snoring, and when Thomas takes a brief glance over to the passenger’s seat he sees him sleeping, his face pressed up against the strap of his seatbelt, his sweater bunched up so its collar presses up against his bottom lip.

His hair is falling over his eyes, but somehow Thomas makes it home without reaching over to brush it away.

\--

“Hey, this is me,” Thomas says when he’s pulled over at the sidewalk across the street from his house. He gives Newt’s shoulder a small shake, and he wakes up with a start.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Thomas says sincerely. “Are you sure you’re okay getting home?”

“Yeah, I can drive two miles without dropping unconscious.”

Thomas laughs, and they both get out. Newt comes around to meet him next to the driver’s side door.

“Good night, then,” he says, and Thomas would like to think his smile looks fond.

“Yeah, good night.”

But when he turns to go, he hears Newt start to say his name, feels his fingertips brush against his arm.

Thomas spins around again, and Newt finishes, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m great,” Thomas answers, trying not to make his answers sound too clipped. “Thanks for hanging out tonight.” He grins, “And I hope your mom doesn’t kill you.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “We’ll see.”

\--

Newt had only driven off when Thomas had flashed him his house key. Then he had waved goodbye as Thomas opened his front door, and by the time Thomas started trudging up the stairs he had gone.

And as Thomas slides in the bed he doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t want to think, because it’s late and he’s exhausted and the night— _with my_   _fucking_   _crush_ , he thinks, with an internal cringe—was kind of… disappointing, considering what he was expecting.

He hears his phone vibrate in his back pocket, and his heart jumps a little at the thought of it being Newt checking in.

But when he sees the name on the screen he wonders if he should even answer.

_[Minho]: are you still awake_

(Then again, none of this was Minho’s fault. And even if he hadn’t said it—Thomas does, well, love him. For the asshole he is.)

_[Thomas]: more or less_

_[Minho]: i just finished that fucking paper it was a nightmare dude_

_[Thomas]: youll get an a tho_

_[Minho]: obviously but thats not the point_

(And the conversation continues, easy as it always does, until it’s nearly 3AM and Thomas finally falls asleep thinking maybe, yes, there were a few things to like about Minho.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> K I had actual shit to do but then this happened (really late at night which is probably why there are hella typos gross) and I hate these assholes, this was sadder than i had intended
> 
> This was mostly Thomas, probably. Idk I like limited narration and I like Thomas gets panicky over the fact that he has a hard time reading Newt, especially since he’s probably used to knowing exactly what Minho is thinking all the time ew
> 
> So this is part of the ThoMiNewt Vignette ‘verse, as I’ll refer to it like a douchebag /side eye emoji. That goddamn [baseball fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2658287) (which I feel has a completely different tone fuck me) also takes place here.
> 
> I think I’ll have to continue because I hate unrequited love and I feel awful for my baby Thomas so what else am I supposed to do? Nothing. I’m trapped.
> 
> Except they probably won’t go in chronological order so I’ll probably fuck up the continuity/timeline, and they probably won’t always be explicitly t/m/n, who knows
> 
> either way it’ll be garbage, please don’t throw the rocks too hard. prompts maybe [at my tumblr](http://amazerunners.tumblr.com/ask) I don’t even know anymore


End file.
